Her hand in sooth, I lack for words—
Her hand, five slender snow-white birds,
Her voice, tho’ she but said “God Speed”—
Was melody blown through a reed;
The girl Pan changed into a pipe
Had not a note so full and rife.
And then her eye—my lad, her eye!
Discreet, inviting, candid, shy,
An outward ice, an inward fire,
And lashes to the heart’s desire.